


Jealous Guy

by Rioviolina



Category: The Beatles
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-20
Updated: 2017-06-21
Packaged: 2018-11-16 16:47:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11256915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rioviolina/pseuds/Rioviolina
Summary: What goes on in John Lennon's head?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I often feel that when John Lennon opened his mouth, what came out was not necessarily what he meant to say. This is just an idea..might work, might not.

Sometime in 1964 England

The limo drew up outside the theatre. The usual crowds. The usual noise. George and Ringo were glad to have arrived. On the journey there they'd been all too aware of the incessant bickering going on in the backseat of the vehicle. John and Paul were at it again. George raised his beetley brow at Ringo and pulled a face. Ringo gave a wan smile in response. This was getting tiring. It was day after day.  
"..don't give a fuck.." they heard John spit. There was a quiet murmur from Paul, then an even louder "..fuck off, then.." from John.

If Brian, sitting up front, could hear it, he wasn't responding.  
"Okay, boys, ready? Straight in, the moment the doors open."

Catching breath, Ringo was close on George's heels, following the shaggy brown mop top through the swing doors and in.  
"Dressing room down here, lads" someone called.

Ringo's p.o.v.

I often felt we were treated like a small herd of sheep, particularly in those early years when nobody was quite sure who was who. We'd be herded in one direction, then another. People would be trying to look at us, get a word, shake a hand. Sometimes we were so knackered from all the travelling, we just wanted to chill for a bit..crash out, have a drink, have a ciggie...have no one else round us other than us. Sometimes, though, when John was in one of his moods, it helped if there was somebody else...preferably a few somebody else's. It helped deflect some of that pent up anger you sensed was burning in him. If it was just the four of us, we would get it, starting with Paul. Paul would hold out for so long, until the worst was over, then he'd go and lock himself in the loo. At which point John would start on George, who wouldn't give back, so when John got no joy there, he'd turn to me....yeah, me..the Dingle lad. By then, John had usually run out of steam. Also..well, if you're from the Dingle, y'come complete with reputation. It helps, I find. Even if I'm little.

George's p.o.v.

The call comes we're on in fifteen...can't see that happening at the moment. John's in one mighty sulk, an' hasn't got changed. Paul has never reappeared from the bathroom. What the fuck's he doing in there? He's not changed either. Unless he's changing in the cubicle.  
There's only me 'n' Ritchie ready. Well, I bet he wasn't up for all this drama when he joined the group. He looks at me every now and then, a bit quizzical, like..y'know, what's on with them two? Shit, here's Brian, ,oh, crap

"Okay, boys?" Brian's head looks round the door, takes in Ringo's rather false smile, George's frown, John's thunderous pout, and Paul's absence.  
"Are you all quite ready? The call has gone out..."  
John flings himself from the chair and starts throwing his clothes off. The shirt lands on Ringo's head, which could be funny, but...no one's smiling at the moment.  
John gets ready at breakneck speed. He looks as if he's about to explode. Everyone is keeping a distance..as much as is possible in a cramped dressing room.  
"George, where is Paul?" George indicates the loo with his thumb. Brian frowns. What on earth is going on with this lot?  
"Er..he's been in there ever since we arrived" Ringo offers the information hesitantly. Brian strides across the small space and hammers on the door.  
"Paul? Paul? What the hell are you doing? You're on in a few minutes"  
There's a unintelligible mumble, and the bolt slides open.

Ringo's p.o.v.

Christ, I've never seen Brian so riled. He grabs Paul and practically hauls him out. Paul looks flustered..that's not like him. He's normally first ready, checking we've got everything. Know what we're doing. He's a bit bossy like that. But he's good at it, so we tend to lean on him. His suit's on the hanger where I'm standing, so I shift..  
"You okay?"   
He just glances at me, trying to avoid my eyes. Trying to avoid everybody's eyes, I think. I feel a surge of concern.  
"Paul?"  
He won't look at me. He's very flushed. His eyes look very bright...hang on....  
"Paul, you're on mic tonight. Remember to mention which L.P. each song is on, and while you're at it.."  
"Cant John do it?" Paul cuts across Brian's directive. Brian stops, surprised. We all do. All except John, who's just finished dressing.  
"No I fucking can't. May as well make pretty boy earn his wages" John scowls.  
I sense Paul curl into himself. He hates being referred to as the pretty one, even if he is. Took some flack for his looks in the early days. The really early days. When we were in Hamburg, though I was with a different group then. But I'd heard about Paul. Some of the guys used to have debates..is he, isn't he? Just 'cos he looks like a girl doesn't mean he is one, I remember saying. Then some other chap just snorted..you'll not get near enough to find out, son, his boyfriend'll slaughter anyone who gets within an inch of him. Everyone jeered, making rude gestures. I never thought to ask who the boyfriend was......two years down the line I'm beginning to put two 'n' two together.

George's p.o.v.

Well thank Christ that's over. One of the most tense gigs I've ever had. If looks could kill we'd be down to a duo. I've no idea how John and Paul managed to share a mic. John has himself blown up like a peacock on a rut...No, that's probably not a good description, but he's sure full of it. Could hardly hear Paul on the harmony, but that's 'cos Paul wouldn't get near enough to share the mic with John. He kept backing off. I could see Brian in the wings gesticulating like mad....He looked furious. Shit!! Not that the crowd minded...they just screamed their way through the whole set. Now we're on our way back to the hotel..same car...same driver...same old same old, as they say. John is looking like a volcano about to erupt. I start to wonder how many descriptions I can find for these John moments. I should keep a notebook. Make a list. Paul is shoved up the side of the car, staring out the window. He's not said a thing. He's gone into his own head. He does that when things get too difficult. I look at Ringo. He gives a faint smile back. Nearly at the hotel. Hope there's some food left.

Ringo's p.o.v.

So, here we are, made it up to our rooms. Mal and Nell are scrambling around finding our luggage. I just wanna sleep. I really, really need to sleep. I glance across at George, who's just grabbing his suitcase off Nell. Come on, George, I'm fucking knackered, I'm thinking to meself. A scotch, a ciggie, teeth brushed, into bed,sleep...sleep. yeah, before we do the whole rigmarole again tomorrow. Then Paul's by me, his eyes very wide...a desperate look in them. I catch my breath..y'okay?....Ringo. please...can I bunk with you tonight?..Shit..I see George look over, surprised. Please? Paul adds it quietly, desperation in every letter. Well...I don't mind, but....I look around. Brian's talking with Mal, and Nell's sorting George's case for him. Suddenly Paul's hand is on my arm...he's almost whispering it..please, Ritchie...I nod, sure, Paul, if you want. I sense George lift his head, surprised, then next moment John summons Paul peremptorily..Paul, come on, now...what the fuck you doing? I feel Paul's fingers grip my arm...but his voice sounds clear enough...I'm sharing with Richie tonight. John's voice cuts into the silence..I don't think so, son..now stop fucking around and get your arse into our room.


	2. Chapter two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What's going on in John's head? Who's taking the knocks?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who don't know 'Got out the wrong side of the bed' and 'Knickers in a twist' are popular sayings to explain someone in a grumpy mood. The latter was particularly common in the 60's.

Paul's p.o.v.

Jesus, I dunno what's wrong with John today. I can't do anything right. Can't do right for doing wrong. Dunno who got his knickers in a twist. He must have got out the wrong side of the bed this morning, but he's not stopped having a go at me. And if I try to ignore him, he just needles until he gets me riled again. I'm not supposed to get riled. Everyone looks to me to sort John's 'problems' out..though most of them are in his head. Now don't think I'm unsympathetic...for all the glamour, this is a tough life we're leading at the moment. Rarely get home to see family and have a break. Then he's got Cyn and his little boy..Well, enough said. Don't misunderstand me, Cyn is fab, and Jules is gorgeous, but John didn't really see himself as husband and dad yet...still wants the bachelor boy life.  
Me 'n' John had a great time in Hamburg. We did our growing up there in lots of ways....some we shouldn't talk about. I think he still hankers after that lifestyle. We had our freedom..Well, that's gone now.  
He was pissed off the moment he woke. I offered him first use of the bathroom, he said no, then moaned at me when I went first. That was the start. It's been every fucking little thing, and I've honestly had enough. All the way to the theatre..I could see Ringo looking over. Bet he wonders what's going on sometimes. I had to go and shut myself in the loo...Christ, I'd really had enough. I just wanted out, home, me dad, anything but being with John. Got quite tearful but, well, big boys don't cry, was always rubbed into me, so scrub yer face Paul and just get on with it. Brian was fucking furious that I wasn't ready...and why should I do mic? Why can't someone else?. And if John calls me pretty boy again I'll smash his bleeding face in. Well, actually, no I won't cos he's bigger than me and I'd come off worse.  
So here I am back at the hotel, begging Richie to let me share with him. I can't stand anymore of Lennon. I can see Richie's surprised but...I push a bit, y'know?. I'm fucking desperate man. So Richie says yes, and I say to John I'm sharing with Richie. Now here's John storming over..oh, shit...what...bloody hell, I'm bleeding. The bugger's just..fuck..must be me nose...Brian's yelling and..Christ, Richie's trying to mop me up..no, no, it's okay...m'alright, honest...

Ringo's p.o.v.

Can't believe it..John's just belted Paul. The poor kid's on the floor with his nose?..yeah, must be his nose, pouring blood everywhere. Shit..he looks so embarrassed. I'm here looking for hankies, anything to help him mop up, and Brian's yelling..yeah, actually yelling, our cool, calm, collected manager. Mind you. I always think of Paul as being cool, calm and collected too, but I can't apply that description at the moment Poor chap's sitting on the floor, blood over everything, desperately trying to find a hanky and telling us all he's okay. He obviously isn't! And what's more John's just standing there watching, as if he's a bystander and didn't just cause all this chaos. Thank Christ for Mal, who just wades in, pulls Paul to his feet and whisks him off to the bathroom to help him clean up....

George's p.o.v.

The bastard, how dare he do that to Paul..if Paul's asking to bunk with Richie there's gotta be a reason..Fuck, ..Mal, here. Let me...Shit, Paul, it's all over your shirt..here tip y'head back..just stop..stop flapping yer hands about..Mal, pass me that towel..Jesus, Macca, you've got it everywhere. I'll bloody kill Lennon for this...what? Can't tell what y'saying from behind a towel, love! Let's see....Jesus, Paul looks embarrassed, m'not surprised. And now Lennon's at the doorway..How the fuck d'you think he is when you've just clobbered him one?...shurrup, Paul, I'm talking...thought he was supposed t'be y'best mate..Well, tough, we all have off days, but we don't go round socking one another. Yeah, he'll live...

John's p.o.v.

I didn't mean to do that. It just...sorta happened. Shit! Why the fuck do I do things like that. Oh man it's been a bad day, and then Paul saying he didn't wanna room with me. Well, I wanted to room with him. I always wanna room with him. Paul's the centre of my life..Can't tell him that, though..he's got a big enough ego as it is. Why do I do this? Why the fuck do I push people away? Last night..oh, yeah, last night in the bar...there was this guy trying to get into Paul's trousers..oh, he'd laugh and say I was being paranoid, but he doesn't see them like I see them. Put Paul in a room full of males and watch their reaction...they're like flies round dog shit...same goes for the women. Stupid sod doesn't know, doesn't see it. I have to watch out for him. Wish to fuck I could put a collar on him....y'know, keep away, not one step further, he's mine. Trouble is, he doesn't know he's mine. I don't mean to get at him. I'm a bad tempered sod, I know, but Paul's the cause of most of it. He, of course, lives in ignorant bliss, so...I just want him to pick up the vibes without me saying anything. I mean, I'm married, got a kid, an' I'm queer for me best friend who doesn't know I fancy him. No wonder I'm crazy in the head. And Paul, well, he just looks at me with those big eyes, flutters his lashes...bugger..why can't he read my mind? We're supposed to, y'know. People say we have this connection. Connection, oh yeah, right. So I wanna say he looks good today, but when I open me mouth just abuse spews out, and he ain't done anything. No wonder he looks at me in amazement. That song he wrote...And I love her...I love it. Opened me mouth to tell him, and what came out? Oh, more of your granny shite I see, Paul. No wonder he gave me a disgusted look. Fucked it up again. I don't know how to handle this, but I know one thing...He ain't sharing with Ritchie or George. He's mine, and no one else is getting him. Right...here goes....

George's p.o.v. 

So John comes barging in and we're trying to clean Paul up and..fuck, the bastards not?...oh. No..the way Paul flinched I thought John..what? What's he just said? Hang on, Paul, y'don't have t'share with...Fuck me, he's gone. He's just gone with...after...Christ, I look at Mal and Ringo, and they look at me. Someone tell me what's going on, eh?

John's p.o.v.

It's three in the morning, and I'm wide awake. I'm watching Paul sleep, cos that's what I do. Like some stupid, fucking, lovelorn idiot. This is when he's mine. No one else gets to hear his night time murmurs, no one else gets to see him like I do. Arms flung out, hair mussed up, dark lashes fluttering occasionally when he dreams. I hear him breathe through parted lips, and in my imagination I run my thumb down his face, over those pale cheekbones, across his lips, over his adam's apple, down his chest..Yeah, you know where I'm going. Sometimes he wakes and finds me watching him...what y'doing Johnny? he'll say..but he just drifts back off, cos he's a good Catholic boy and thoughts like I have don't fill his head. Fuck!! Tomorrow it'll start all over again. I'll be a bastard to him again. Just cos I can't tell him how I really feel. You're mine, y'know, I whisper. Sorry, I'm just a jealous guy.


End file.
